


encanto rojo

by orpheuslament



Series: sangre en los dientes [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (implied at least) - Freeform, Again, Cannibalism, Dancing Lessons, Dark Will Graham, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, M/M, Murder, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), also while covered in blood, idk what else to tag lmao, maybe? - Freeform, no beta we die like men, while covered in blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26791201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orpheuslament/pseuds/orpheuslament
Summary: “No pretenses,” Hannibal breathes next to his neck, “no barriers,” he pushes him to the side so that he can stare into his eyes, “just bodies doing what they are meant to be doing.”
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: sangre en los dientes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939858
Comments: 21
Kudos: 190





	encanto rojo

**Author's Note:**

> this a continuation to [por una cabeza](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26661238). it can be read individually but for context purposes i'd recommend checking it out first!  
> [this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHoJwePJYtE&ab_channel=FabioHagerSexteto-Topic) is the song they dance to.

_"Desire doubled is love and love doubled is madness."_ — Anne Carson.

**ii. encanto rojo**

Crimson red covers every corner of Will’s mind. Pupils dilated, breath coming out in ragged bursts. He feels elevated, intoxicated. 

There is a man bleeding out on the kitchen’s floor. He’s not the first one to do so, and he certainly won’t be the last. 

The pathetic creature whines, hand outstretched towards the ceiling as if anyone would look down on it with anything but disgust. Will smiles, a cruel, vicious thing, showing blood-stained teeth and presses the heel of his boot to the gash on the man’s calf as he tries to crawl away from him. A fresh spurt of blood trickles down his leg and joins the thick pool steadily forming beneath him. Will looks down and sighs at the sight of his ruined shoes. 

There’s a dull ache on the side of his ribs where the other man managed to land a kick on him and the blood covering his face and hands is starting to dry, warm and sticky, but he pays no attention to it. His ears are ringing, his entire body is pulsing with electricity. His skin feels like it’s on fire and it’s _wonderful._

The man shifts under his weight again, crawling in the direction of the knife Will dropped during the fight. One last effort to cling to survival before his body shuts down. Will presses on the wound even harder, and the worm lets out a high-pitched cry before collapsing face-first into a puddle of his own blood. 

Will crouches and stares at the quivering mass in front of him, and wonders what he should do with it. 

-

The wretched thing had sneaked in through the kitchen door around thirty minutes after Hannibal had left the house, definitely not expecting someone else to be inside. 

Will stops at the door at the sight of the stranger. He has not yet realized he’s not alone, too busy trying to close the door behind him without making a sound. A short, stocky man with dirty blonde hair plastered to his face and clothes damp from the afternoon rain. 

“Can I help you?”

He turns around startled when he hears his voice. Will takes him in. The way he holds himself denotes some sort of professional training. Police, possibly military. He’s long retired if his age and general demeanor are anything to go by. He’s not carrying a weapon either, but his hand instinctively reaches for it anyway. He stares at Will with wide eyes and looks around as if to make sure he hasn’t broken in into the wrong house. 

“Do you know who that is? The guy that just left?” 

American. New York, maybe, given the accent. He’s wearing bermudas and a plain white t-shirt despite the weather not being nearly warm enough for it yet. A tourist determined to make the most of his vacation regardless of the weather. He reeks of rum and there's a fine patch of skin on his ring finger that is significantly paler than the rest of his hand. Divorced, alcoholic, lonely. No one waiting for him at home. 

“Sure do,” Will crosses his arms where he’s standing, not bothering to move, “I’m his husband.” 

The man frowns, confused. “His… husband?”

Will simply raises his left hand as an answer, pointing towards the wedding ring with a nod. “And you are?” 

“I’m -” the man opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, trying to process the situation, “I followed the case, a few years back. Read the books too.” 

Will sighs and walks slowly towards the counter, his eyes landing on the knife holder for a second, before grabbing a glass from the cabinet on top of him and filling it up straight from the tap. Hannibal had bought a very expensive water filter a few days ago. Will thought it was entirely unnecessary. 

The man tenses but doesn’t move, he probably doesn’t recognize Will as a threat. Yet. 

“I saw him in town the other day and I wasn’t sure so I followed him but,” he hesitates, “it’s him, isn’t it? Hannibal Lecter?”

Will finishes drinking, sets the glass on the sink to wash it later, and turns to address his guest once more.

“I told you,” he says, a slight warning in his voice, “he’s my husband.” 

The man shakes his head, confused. “Is he holding you hostage or something? I can get you out of here, we can call the police.” 

Will takes a deep breath and straightens his back. He fixes his eyes on the other man, dangerous and predatory, and stares down at him as realization finally hits him. 

“You’re Will Graham,” he takes a step backward, suddenly alarmed, “you’re not dead.” 

“Bingo,” a grin slowly takes place on his face and, before his prey has any time to react, grabs one of their cooking knives and charges. 

-

He’s still debating what to do with the body when he hears the front door open. It still has a pulse, but given the amount of blood oozing from several stab wounds, it won’t take too long before the heart finally gives up. 

In hindsight, it might have been excessive. The entire room is covered in red and it will be a pain to clean up, but the sudden prospect of losing their life here had blinded him, nothing but bloodlust and fierce protective instinct driving his mind and hands into warm, malleable flesh. He knows they can’t keep this forever. He knows at one point or another they’ll have to start building a house somewhere else. He knows this, and yet. The constant murmur of the sea, the seagulls screeching every morning, the afternoon rains, the evenings spent in Montevideo, it all feels too much like home to give it up so soon. 

His mind races, thinking about what could’ve happened if the man had just called the authorities, if he hadn’t been there to confront him. 

If he closes his eyes he can just see it, behind the ever swinging pendulum of his brain, a dozen or so police cars surrounding the building. Their door kicked open, guns pointed at them and dirty hands tearing apart at their new-found domesticity.

Hannibal battered and bruised, Hannibal being taken away in handcuffs, Hannibal lying dead on the floor. 

His hands start shaking. 

He breaks the man’s neck. 

“Who’s our friend?” Hannibal stands in the kitchen doorway, impossibly calm, holding a paper bag in his arms, raindrops suspended on the tips of his hair. He spares the body nothing but a glance before circling it to place the groceries down on the counter. 

Will stands, hands clenched at his sides, and says nothing. Hannibal starts putting away his purchases, carefully avoiding most of the blood on the floor. He had had to make a late afternoon run to the store for wine and a couple of ingredients for dinner.

When everything is in its place, Hannibal stares at him from the other side of the kitchen. He feels more than sees Hannibal’s eyes on him, roaming down his body, addressing every cut and bruise, drinking in the blood and raw emotion that is coming out of him in waves. It’s dark, intense, _hungry._

Will’s entire body is buzzing, adrenaline mixed with fear mixed with excitement mixed with something else he has no need to analyze right now. 

Hannibal takes a careful step his way, moving slowly as if to not scare him off. 

“Look at you,” he walks towards him as one would approach a wild tiger. When he’s close enough, his hand comes up to cradle his cheek. Will lets him, looking anywhere but at the man in front of him, “such an enchanting creature.”

Hannibal gently tilts his chin up, addressing the blood running down his nose carefully, still searching for signs of any injury. 

“Want to tell me what happened?” 

His deep, smooth voice pulls him out of the murky, thick waters of his mind, finally letting out a breath he feels he’s been holding forever. His own hands, still shaking, come up to grab at Hannibal, staining his pristine white cotton shirt as he does. 

“He knew who you were. Who _we_ were,” Will’s voice almost a growl, “he wanted to take you away from me.” 

“I find it hard to believe any force on earth could effectively sever me from you." 

“You seem awfully calm about this,” despite his best efforts to regain composure Will’s voice still comes out weak and shaky. His knuckles are starting to go white from how tightly he’s holding unto Hannibal. 

“I am,” Hannibal keeps staring at a speck of dried blood on top of his lips, “you took care of the situation. Albeit a bit messily.” 

Hannibal looks around amused, “I must ask, next time, try to contain the splatter to only one part of the room. This will take an entire day to clean up.”

“Shut up.”

“Pardon?” 

“Just shut up,” Will snarls, pulling Hannibal towards him, “he _knew_ , Hannibal. He could’ve called the cops, he could have told someone. God, maybe he did. Maybe-” 

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice is firm yet gentle. Will looks up and suddenly they’re too close, it’s too much and he has nowhere to hide, “if the police had been notified, we would have been swarmed by now. Listen,” his thumb traces the edge of his cheekbone, “there is no one outside.”

The house is quiet around them, only the rhythmic tapping of the rain on the windows, the distant roaring of the waves and their own breathing breaking the silence. Hannibal’s right. Last time he checked, they were still on the FBI's most-wanted list. If anyone else knew they were here, they would’ve been raided already. It does little to soothe his fraying nerves. 

“And besides,” his dark, steady eyes meet his, “what makes you think I’d be willing to give any of this up?”

“You can’t fight your way out of everything.”

“I can try,” he smiles at him, “I will. I’d tear apart anything and anyone that dared stand in our path,” he looks down on the body lying prone on the floor, “just as you did.”

Will lets his head fall on Hannibal’s chest. Neither of them move for a solid minute. Hannibal’s hand comes up to rest at the back of his neck, mindlessly running his fingers through his curls. The scent of blood and rain and the feeling of firm muscle pressed against his cheek washes over him like a tide. He allows himself to breathe it all in. 

Hannibal doesn’t pull away, but holds both of Will’s elbows and slowly guides them out of the kitchen, never tearing his gaze away from him. The sudden cold air of the living room hits him and he realizes he must have left the windows open. 

Hannibal places both of them in the center of the room and reaches for his back pocket to grab his phone. 

“What are you doing?”

Hannibal presses on his screen a couple of times and Will hears the distinct _ring_ of the Bluetooth speaker coming to life. “Trying to get you out of your head.” 

The deep growling of an accordion surrounds them, and Will surprises himself letting out a small laugh.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m most certainly not,” Hannibal suppresses a smile, “Helena is still counting on us for this weekend.” 

Will’s mind wanders to the last time they were in the situation. The peace and serenity he felt at that moment are replaced by something entirely different, something wild that is demanding to be fed. They’re both covered in a stranger’s blood and there’s a boiling unspoken tension between them. 

Hannibal takes a step back and circles around him, one hand traveling across his waist as he does. When he returns to face him Will harshly grabs Hannibal by the arm and presses him against his body. 

Hannibal’s brow rises, almost imperceptibly.

“I’ve always been fond of this particular dance,” he lets himself be molded and guided, and Will does his best to pretend he knows what he’s doing, “there’s something so primal and raw about it.”

Will tries to remember how to move his feet and pushes Hannibal backward to the beat of the song. 

When the violins pick up, Will’s fingers tense around strong biceps, and he spins them around. 

“Something so passionate,” Hannibal says, an amused glint in his eyes, “don’t you think?”

“Don’t you ever run out of things to say?” Will focuses on the way Hannibal effortlessly mirrors and complements his every step, like they were meant to move together. 

Hannibal lets out a quiet laugh, and before Will can do anything about it, turns him around, back pressed to his chest, hands resting on his hips, and regains control of both of their bodies. 

“No pretenses,” Hannibal breathes next to his neck, “no barriers,” he pushes him to the side so that he can stare into his eyes, “just bodies doing what they are meant to be doing.”

Will moves away from his reach, grabbing the taller man by the shoulders as Hannibal reaches out for him. They’re battling for dominance, pushing, pulling, twisting. Hands on his neck, on his back, his wrists. It’s frantic and angry and _perfect_. Everything blurs around them in a swirl of red. 

Their struggle eases up when the music starts to slow down, coming up so that their foreheads are almost touching. Both of them are panting, their breaths intertwining. He feels as if he’s crouching over the dying man again, staring down a precipice while every voice inside him is telling him to jump. 

Will’s hands come up to grab at his chest, bringing them impossibly closer. His eyes flicker to his lips once, and before he can think about it, he leans in. 

When they finally collide it’s like they’ve been traveling towards each other for centuries. 

Hannibal kisses him like he does everything else. Carefully and methodically, as if he’s leafing through the pages of an antique book. It’s a gentle, tentative thing at first. Nothing but shaky breaths and dry lips against his own. It feels more dangerous than anything they’ve done to each other in the past. 

When Hannibal grabs him by the back of his neck and deepens the kiss Will feels like he’s being split open. The sharp metallic taste of his own blood covering their lips makes him ache, makes him open his mouth like he’s a parched man finding a river after wandering lost for days. He commits the shape of Hannibal’s sharp canines against his tongue to memory, and can’t contain the breathy moan that escapes him when he feels them nip at his lower lip. Hannibal answers with a low, guttural groan, and frames his face with strong hands while he devours his mouth like he’s starving. Like they’ve both been hungry for too long. 

When they reluctantly need to come up for air, Hannibal’s eyes are tightly closed. He looks almost like he’s in pain, blood-stained lips pressed in a thin line and brow furrowed. One of Will’s hands comes up to rest on his cheek, and when Hannibal looks at him he recognizes, possibly for the first time in all the years they’ve known each other, fear. Will presses a tender kiss to the side of his mouth, and then another, and another, until the lines in Hannibal’s face begin to soften. 

They stay like that, holding each other and exchanging gentle touches until the music dies down. The room slowly returns to him, quiet but for the pounding of his own heart, and he still doesn’t dare to move. A moment suspended in space and time, held by red string and fishing wire. It feels too much like something that might break in an instant if he lets it go. 

Hannibal is the one to step back, but not before taking one of his bloody hands and pressing his lips to them. 

“Go get cleaned up,” he kisses every knuckle with reverence, “I’ll tend to the kitchen,” he breathes him in, lips slightly parted, “and maybe make some changes to our dinner plans.”

“No point in wasting perfectly good meat,” Will says with a half-smile.

Hannibal’s mouth lifts at the edges, “Exactly.”

When Hannibal is gone and he has nothing to hold on to, he feels as if his body might collapse in on itself. Suddenly sore and exhausted, he runs a dirty hand through his hair and tries to steady himself before moving. 

When he starts to slowly climb the stairs up to the bathroom, it feels as if the ground is shifting under him with every step he takes.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!  
> kudos and comments are very much appreciated and it will automatically grant u my undying love


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